愛 I Hate You
by Kifujin Kitade
Summary: Because most of time love is the closest feeling to hate.


Hey... Now i really have to apologize. My PC's gone, dead, DEAAAAD, with this month's chapters in his stomach. So sorry the only thing I can give you is this... Yes, very short one shot. I hate using other people's PC so i'll have to wait till next month until a friend of mine come back and save what's left of the HDD. I'll however publish something else maybe by the end of november, but just a one shot.

I'm really, really, really sorry, my dear followers... T.T

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><p>愛: Ai."Love" in japanese<p>

I got this idea from the eponym song, from Loveless.

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><p>AiI Hate You

I hate the shark trash.

Whatever you can say about this, I hate that trash.

The first thing I hear when I wake up in the morning (or in mid-afternoon, or late in the night… well, at what time I wake up isn't really the problem here) is his fucking deafening "Voooi", loud enough to make the neighbors' dog bark and babies cry, echoing through the walls of the Varia mansion – and they're thick. And he doesn't only do that. If it was only that everyone would have borne it, like morning hangover. But the damn scum had to do it the entire fucking day. Did some stupid trash botch their mission? He "Voi". Had someone messed with his shit? He "Voi". Now people call our daily life the "Voi-ce show". I don't get it, though.

Yet in the same time, the "show" isn't always that bad: you just have to know how to plug it in to have the best tone.

'V-voi!'

That for instance is a quite nice one. It has a tendency to occur when I pound forcefully in him and brush at _that_ special spot. The peak of his voice rises higher and higher, his back arches painfully to take more of me in his ass… Then he screams my name while his cum is spurting all over his chest, bed sheets, car seat or anywhere I decided to fuck him. His fingernails are scratching sorely at my back, enough to draw blood, eyes shutting close and blood pulse frantic.

Well, in that kind of situation maybe the shark trash's voice isn't that unwelcome.

But after that comes the hair. It certainly is the most annoying part of the scum.

Seriously how can someone who has butt-length hair call himself a man? Beside it's fucking flashy and showy. A sniper would easily find out the blockhead in a crowd of thousands other scumbags; then bye-bye the shark trash.

When I first saw him wearing that white floorcloth on his head, it infuriated me to no hell. It was the proof of my defeat, the proof of all those years I've lost. The worst was that I had to see it every fucking day, every fucking hour.

Even in bed. It's spreading everywhere: still when Squalo's sleeping, whipping his sharp features, his bony shoulders when we're on it. More than once my hands would unconsciously find their way to the silken mane, fondle or pull on it until it's hurting enough for the shark to complain about. But I can't help it. Every silvery fiber of it is disturbing. Even after all that time we've slept together, it still is. Somehow I want to cut it, to rip it from the scum's skull. Still one way or another I always end up caressing the soft and shiny drape.

Yes. Squalo's locks are kinda soft. When I look at them (it's not as if I'm doing it all the time) they're constantly glistening, shining playfully in the sunlight. And they smell good too… Fuck. Why was that embodiment of failure such an erotic shit?

Let's say that in retrospect, the trash's hair isn't that bad.

Yeah but it's clear that I hate losing my time with him. The trash's talking, crap. And he's talking a lot. Not like those stupid, sassy whores – that at least a fact I bless God for. But the problem is that justly he's whining about work, missions and about the other shitheads who are working with him. That's why somehow I _have_ to listen to what he says. However all I got from it was that he's a workaholic with a high tendency to stress about every fucking thing. How annoying.

The only retribution is that I don't have to think about the shitty details of my job. Mostly it makes me believe that I'm not surrounded by retarded losers. No… Wait. Yes, I _am_ surrounded by retarded losers. Only one of those has a minimum of wits, that's what I meant.

If I want to know how the last famiglia's meeting went and I'm too tired to listen to fags' cooing or fake princes' _shi shi shi_, or watching pierced ugly faces crawling at my feet, I ask the shark. Or rather he's the one directly reporting without me asking. The only options left when he's not here were the baby or the robot; so when both disappeared I had to keep the shark trash close.

Also if I've lost some shit – booze, necktie or whatever – in the manor, Squalo surely knows where it is. And who has to deal with the low-life subordinates? Hell, as if I can even stand any of those scums. I suppose he knows them more than I do, and in addition he surely is more able to suppress the desire to kill each one of them.

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><p>'Voi, Boss. Take care of your own goddamn shit, fuck. I'm fucking busy now!' Squalo yelled in my office. I shifted in my seat and glared at him.<p>

'Shaddup, you silly shit. My meal's late.'

The shark looked at me like someone escaped from an asylum. No. That wasn't a look, maybe a glower, but in worse. You know, he had that gift to stare angrily at you with bloodshot eyes. They're so dilated that you swear they're soon gonna burst in their sockets. When he's like that you can't reason with him anymore. Just prepare yourself for long, very long hours of ranting.

His arms are crossed, his nostrils are fuming, his eyebrows are deformed with annoyance; and then he starts nodding nervously, up and down, as if he's listening to some rhythmed song. It makes his silver mane wave on his slender, nicely curved waist.

That scene always splits my sides, though I'll never show it. So I contented myself on smirking at the scum, which is only irritating the latter even more. Oh, that's right. We were undergoing a raid, outside.

'Bossman' He was stamping. 'We have two squads on the front. One hour earlier they were asking for reinforcement. Bel and Lussuria are missing from the radar; an enemy group had passed our borders, more than half of our men are whether dead whether knock out and you're still asking for _your motherfucking meat_?' At the end he was screaming.

'Che. Useless trash.'

That was the last straw which sure made one of the shark's not-too-damaged fuses burst. He stomped to my desk and thrashed on it.

'Vooooi, you fucktard of a boss' He hissed loudly… Who the hell are you calling useless? Who's cleaning everyone's shit since the start of this fucking break-in? Who's taking care _and_ of your stupid lackeys _and_ of our fucking enemies since that morning? I'm damn fed up with all that shit, dammit! And I'm not… Mmh!'

Basically, that's how I shut that overloud mouth.

I grabbed at one of the many locks which had fallen on the desk as the shark leant too much on it. Like that I just crushed my lips on his, suckled them, twining my tongue with his. His mouth tasted coffee (he'd been drinking that since the previous day). Nevertheless, being the hard-to-get bitch he was, Squalo tried to push me back. As if I could let him do so. I pulled harder on his hair so the trash was completely leaning on the table, whining because of the mishandling.

I didn't let go of him until I was sure the moaning I heard weren't muffled threats.

'Mmm… Nh…'

But I was also getting dizzy from the lack of air, so I pulled back, leaving the shark trash gasping heavily, sprawling futilely in front of me.

'Voi… Ah… What was that for?' He panted while grinning like the damn shark he was.

'That's because you're a fucking noisy trash.'

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><p>I know it's very short, but please review?<p> 


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